


Illumine

by Laywithmeart



Category: Bodyguard (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, F/M, im not jed, im sorry, it will be ok, small ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-09-02 07:40:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16782607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laywithmeart/pseuds/Laywithmeart
Summary: Two times Julia and David desperately tried to reconnect after having suffered a late-stage miscarriage.





	1. Chapter 1

One. 

Heavy drops running down curves, eyelids swollen and exhausted. She's crying in her sleep, again. The horror of their current reality replaying itself in her dreams, the place where it's supposed to be peaceful. 

He wants to reach out, wants to hold her until she wakes, but he knows she doesn't want to be touched right now-by him or anyone for that matter-but she's _his wife_ for God's sake and he knows what it is like to be hurt. 

Then it is her, she's the one that moves. She inches towards the warmth coming from his body and she suddenly focuses on his face. Her stare has been oddly blank nowadays, so empty yet so full of shame and guilt. Her pain, it is one he cannot touch, a depth he cannot understand. 

"Julia," His voice is gentle, a broken whisper. He gathers her in his arms, rests his weight on her, not waiting for a sign of approval.

The meeting of their bodies is charged with a type of heaviness that is uncommon to them, like a low hum that secretly bears the power of the universe. The shadow of an old ghost rushes over them as they shift in the dark. 

"She still exists here between us," he soothes and prays, "she always will."

Her tears stream on as she finally kisses him back, refilling their union with hope.


	2. Illumine II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two times Julia and David desperately tried to reconnect after having suffered a late-stage miscarriage.

Two.

  
They're trying, really they are. With all their might do they attempt to restore what fell apart between them that fateful day, even when it proves to be near the profound and hopelessly doomed.

Lately, however, there's been a change in dynamics that she immediately knows will do them more harm than good. She wonders if David realises, as she does, that their reluctance to decline the offer made to them just might lead to the ultimate destruction; the end of _them_ , the end of the 'us' despite all their efforts.

The factor that could decide their fate, the detrimental _other_ in this tremendously difficult situation, is David's old love. Vicky. She's been following closely, offering support and absolutely meaning well, but tiptoeing on the border of a line she's not cognizant of.

David doesn't see it either, the unhealthiness of his reaction and its most-likely noxious effect. Blind to his current emotional gravitation towards his ex-wife, he does not understand how —sweet and non-vicious as Vicky is— crucial it remains that he and Julia share this emotional blow together. He doesn't understand, doesn't look beyond good intentions.

And it angers her. Oh, how it enrages every fibre of her being. At the moment he's asleep beside her, undisturbed and calm, and she wants to wake him and reclaim him like the fire that caused the scars to creep up his waist and back because he seems too careless, too peaceful—as if he's already given up on them. She wants to tell him to stop and think, yell at him her boiling disappointment, her impending resentment, her fear so visceral.

 _Don't do this to me!_ She tries to convey in her teary stare. _Don't leave me because I am not ready to let you in yet. Don't you dare! I cannot lose you too. Not after my baby, our baby girl, our flesh and blood that should have grown to become her own person. Not after I've been tormenting myself wondering what she would have been like, if she would love the tower of whipped cream you'd put on her chocolate milk, the songs I would sing to lull her to sleep, if she would one day sulk and refuse to wear dresses like I did when I was a teenager._

She scoots closer to him. _In my dreams, I go to the day she should have been born, all the times we tried to create her and then the time we actually did. But then, my dream becomes a nightmare. And it laughs at me, reflects to me with dark sarcasm how airy that happiness was. And that paralyses me with its sting, but don't you dare leave me, not when I still need to give this a place within myself. Don't give up on me,_ she thinks as she regards him, _because our situation is not an unmanageable one. We both know our loss will remain a heavy one to bear, always, and I'm sorry I have been so closed off, but this is the time to choose for each other all over again. I will lick your wounds and you will mine._

A year's worth of isolating melancholy suddenly crumbles to pieces, sharp flakes of suffocating desolation turn to brittle specks and evaporates like mist. All that is left is her vehement determination to conquer, mend, and share her pain. She _is_ ready.

She grabs his arm, nails biting into his skin, and rolls him over to face her. He wakes abruptly and startled, eyes peering into hers. She straddles his hips, rips off her shirt, and sinks down onto him while he is still soft and she is still dry. His welcoming grunt is honest and unreserved as she writhes above him, and she is so glad he's finally really seeing her again, recognize her and all he promised to cherish. He knows how much she's bled, and she knows how blunt his pain has been as well. She's overwhelming and territorial despite the intimate knowledge though, but she finally bares her teeth for the better. She has a clear point to make. 

"You're mine, David."


End file.
